"Why, the effect ought to be good, I suppose,--so the preachers say." "I do not wish to know what the preachers say. I wish your own opinion." "Are you quite in earnest?" "Quite." "Such suffering, rightly taken, would strip life of its disguises, and show it in its naked truth. It would teach the man to know himself and to know others. It would awaken his sympathies, enlarge his mind, and greatly expand his sphere of vision; teach him to hold present pleasure and present pain in small account, and to look beyond them into a future of boundless hopes and fears." "Now," said Morton, "you have betrayed yourself." "How have I betrayed myself?" asked his friend, in some discomposure. "You have shown me the secrets of your own mind. You have given me a glimpse of your own history, since we last met." "And so, under pretence of confessing to me, you have been plotting to make me confess to you!" "No, you shall hear my confession. I have it now, such as it is, at my tongue's end." "I have no faith in you." "Perhaps you will have still less when you have heard this great secret. You remember me before I went away. I was a very exemplary young gentleman,--quiet, orderly, well behaved,--of a studious turn,--soberly and virtuously given." "You give yourself an excellent character." "And what should be the results of the discipline of a dungeon on such a person?" "Discipline would be a superfluity, considering your perfections." "So I thought myself. Nevertheless, for four years, or so, I was shut up, with nothing to look at but stone walls, under circumstances most favorable for the culture of patience, resignation, forgiveness, and all the Christian virtues; and yet the devil has never been half so busy with me as since I came out; never whispered half so many villanous suggestions into my ears, nor baited me with such scandalous temptations." "That is very strange," said Fanny Euston, who was looking at him intently. "For example," pursued Morton, "a little more than a year ago, in New York, he said to me, 'Renounce all your old plans, and habits, and antiquated scruples--reclaim your natural freedom--fling yourself headlong into the turmoil of the world--chase whatever fate or fortune throws in your way--enjoy the zest of lawless pleasures--launch into mad adventure--embark on schemes of ambition--care nothing for the past or the future--think only of the present--fear neither God nor man, and follow your vagrant star wherever it leads you." Morton knew that, restrained and governed as it might be, there was quicksilver enough in his companion's veins to enable her to understand what he had said, and prevent her being startled at it. But he was by no means prepared for the close attack she proceeded to make on him.